Romance, Interrupted!
by Got Tea
Summary: My entry for the Jan/Feb CFO FF contest. Grissom and Sara find their private lives invaded by a colleague, and an unwelcome gift is cause for worry...


Freshly showered with her damp hair tucked into a clip and wearing lounge pants and a Harvard sweater Sara followed the scent of Gil's cooking into the kitchen, her sock clad feet making no sound on the floor. Despite the lack of warning about her approach, Gil knew instinctively that she was there.

"Feel better dear?" he asked, turning to face her. Sara smiled deeply and picked up the steaming cup of tea he gestured to with his wooden spoon.

"Much," she sighed with pleasure as she sipped. Moving to stand next to him she let her head rest on his shoulder; he wrapped an arm around her waist, his fingers gently slipping under her sweater and playing over her skin, soothing her. There were some cases, some days, that were so unspeakably inhumane, so heart wrenching and sole scarring that just knowing they had each other was the difference between surviving and falling into every growing despair. And then there were days when the sheer, seemingly unlimited, stupidity the human race was capable of just had to be marvelled at. Today was one of those days, and Sara hadn't seemed to be able to shake the feeling that it was such a waste of a life, and while it was accidentally self inflicted, it was still a revolting and wholly avoidable death. Closing her eyes she snuggled against him and revelled in the fact that together, snug in their own private sanctuary, they enjoyed their freedom from the jarring world outside and its accompanying mysteries and mayhem.

"Blueberry or strawberry?" asked Gil, indicating his pancake mix.

"Blueberry," grinned Sara, getting plates from the cupboard and setting them on the table. While she put on some music and fed Hank, Grissom turned out a stack of fluffy, golden pancakes that held a siren call to their empty stomachs. Humming with pleasure, Sara fetched syrup and napkins to the table. Catching her by the arm as she moved to sit down, Gil pulled her flush against his body and kissed her; Sara's arms curled automatically around his neck, his wrapped around her, cradling her gently as his lips explored her own. Running her fingers through his hair Sara deepened the kiss as desire washed over her like a tidal wave, consuming her. It was only when their stomachs growled in seeming unison that they laughingly separated and slipped into their respective seats across from one another to dig into their hard earned, and much anticipated feast.

...

Jim Brass walked the halls of CSI briskly, arriving at his destination without interruption. Strangely, Grissom's office was empty, dark and closed. Frowning, the captain retraced his steps to the reception desk, asking Judy if she had seen the elusive entomologist.

"Doctor Grissom left at the end of shift. Would you like me to page him?" she asked.

"No, I'll find him, thanks." Brass wandered out to his car, deep in thought. Since when did Grissom leave on time? Pulling out his cell he tapped in the speed dial for his friend and got behind the wheel. When the phone went straight to voicemail he stared at it and ended the call, tossing it onto the passenger seat in frustration. He clicked his seatbelt into place and pulled out onto the street, heading in the direction of Grissom's town house. As he neared his destination his brow furrowed in concentration as he studied the road signs. He wondered briefly just how long it had been since he'd visited his friend out of the office; long enough, and certainly infrequently enough, for him to have difficulty remembering exactly where to go with ease. Finally he recognized the street, and then the house. Parking, he went up to the door and rang the bell, waiting impatiently. A young Latina woman answered the door, a bright eyed baby girl balanced on her hip. Brass stared at her, positive he had the right place.

"I'm looking for Doctor Grissom?" he said, a little uncertainly.

"Oh, he moved out over a year ago. I used to live next door, but when he put this place up for sale, my husband and I decided we could use the extra space."

"Do you know where he moved to?" asked Brass, amazed that his friend had even considered the hassle and drama involved with moving when he had always seemed very happy where he was.

"Of course," smiled the woman, "I still look after Hank all the time."

"Hank?"

"His dog," said the woman, concern in her eyes. Brass snorted at the thought of Grissom having a dog with that particular name.

"I'm sorry," he apologised, "I'm Jim Brass, with LVPD. I work with Doctor Grissom, and he's my friend. I can't get hold of him at the moment and I needed to ask him something."

"Can I see your ID?" she asked. Brass held it out.

"Thanks, I'm Marisol Sanchez by the way. I'll write the address down for you. Hang on a second." She vanished into the house and returned a moment later, handing him a small slip of paper. She also handed him a multicoloured ball. "Will you give this to him for me? It's Hank's favourite, and I forgot to give it to Grissom last time he picked Hank up from me."

"Sure, thanks very much," said Brass, taking the ball and wondering what the hell his friend was up to.

...

Gil and Sara were curled together on the couch watching Ratatouille, as recommended by the video store clerk, when the doorbell rang. Sara reached out sleepily for the remote, pausing the film while her other half went to see who was bothering them. Having kept the address of their home from all but a few essential personnel, it was highly unusual for anyone to be at the door, unless they called for takeout, or ordered online, and as far as Sara recalled, neither of them was expecting a package. When Hank leapt from his corner bed and bolted after his master, Sara ran after him, knowing all too well the enthusiastic greetings their pet liked to bestow on unsuspecting newcomers. She caught Hank's collar just as Gil opened the door.

...

Time stood frozen for a moment, suspended in the shock of three people not expecting to find themselves in these circumstances. Sara and Gil gasped in harmonious horror; Hank, sensing their sudden stress, stilled and sat quietly on Sara's feet; and Jim gaped for a moment, before allowing an amused grin to break out and spread over his features.

"Busted," he quipped, smirking at them both.

...

It took a moment for the two scientists to get over the shock of finding Brass on their doorstep, an overnight bag slung over one shoulder and a pet carrier in his hand. Gil found his voice first.

"Jim, what are you doing here?" he floundered, his usually encyclopaedic vernacular failing him miserably as he rather bluntly voiced what was running through him mind.

"Well, I was hoping to invite myself to stay for a couple of nights. I called you, went to your office, then your town house. No joy. Oh yeah," he reached into his pocket and withdrew the ball, "Marisol said to give you this. Nice lady, good looking baby." Seeing them both staring silently back at him he sighed, "My upstairs neighbour bought a desk from Thailand. Full of termites; the whole building's been sealed off to be fumed. My cactus is in my office, but Fred and I had to find alternate arrangements."

"Fred," said Sara, faintly. Brass held up his left hand; a startlingly bright orange tabby peered through the door of the cage at her.

"Does he mind cats?" asked the detective, looking at Hank with apprehension.

"No," said Gil, stepping back and letting his friend in. His gaze met Sara's with concern; now what?

...

Despite reassurances from Brass that their secret was safe with him, Sara walked uneasily through the halls of CSI that night, heading for her locker in order to change her boots before she went out to a remote scene in the desert. Opening the door she reached for her bag to get the granola bar she had stashed there earlier and felt her fingers brush against thin plastic. Frowning she pulled out a red plastic bag that was not hers. Inside was a note;

_Sara, I know what you're up to! Enjoy yourself this Valentine's Day! _

Looking back into the bag she saw a heap of white fabric. Pulling it out to examine she dropped it quickly back into the bag, with the note, and stuffed it into the very back of her locker. A lace teddy? Was this some sick joke of Brass', she thought, appalled. Thinking carefully she realized it couldn't possibly be from him. He had left with them only an hour ago, and had been immediately called out to Henderson. There was no way it was from Gil! By mutual agreement and philosophy they didn't do Valentine's, and a whole host of other commercialized experiences that were considered tradition but now lacked meaning in the wake of the profits pocketed by businesses as society placed monetary value on the happiness brought forth by the celebrations. They preferred to share their love for one another privately, intimately, and year round, not needing a single day to remind themselves just how much they treasured each other and their unity. Feeling her skin prickle over the possibilities of who the gift was from, and exactly what they thought she was up to, Sara yanked on her boots and grabbed her thick Forensics coat and her kit, then went to join Gil by the car. Too wound up to drive, she waited by the passenger door, earning a raised eyebrow from her other half as he approached, which quickly morphed into a look of concern when he saw her unnerved expression. His eyebrows moved together slightly as he asked her a silent question; she shook her head imperceptibly as Nick hurried over to join them, but when their colleague stopped to speak to the also outbound Greg, Sara slid into the car and, when Gil closed his door behind him, quickly filled him in on the unnerving surprise.

"Who would send it?" she asked, panic seeping into her tone. The thought that anyone could possibly have figured out her secret sent chills of fear radiating through her body; their life was theirs alone, private and safe from the rest of the world. Gil shifted uneasily at the thought of an intrusion into his love for Sara; something he treasured with an intense privacy. Something he wouldn't share for all the bugs in the world. They had been so careful, so discreet; leaving no clues or evidence for any perceptive onlooker to analyze.

"You didn't recognize the writing?" asked Gil, feeling his stomach clench.

"No," replied Sara, biting her lip. Nightmare scenarios began to run through her head; Ecklie and the sheriff finding out, being forced to leave the lab and their friends, being shunned by those around them for their actions. Taking a deep breath she forced her mind to clear and focus on the present.

"Maybe it's a joke," suggested Gil, "someone wanting you to think they know something and trying to tease you about it. Maybe no one knows anything after all."

"Or maybe," added Sara, grasping the safer scenario he was offering her, "whoever sent it is way off base and thinks I'm up to something completely nonexistent."

"I like that theory," said Gil weakly.

"Me too," Sara agreed quietly.

...

Their discussion was abruptly ended when Nick opened the door and hopped up into the back seat behind Sara. Almost immediately, as Gil pulled out of the garage and onto the highway, he started venting.

"I hate Valentine's Day," he groaned, tugging a loose thread in the cuff of his shirt. "What do you get for someone you've only been dating for three weeks? Seriously, it's not even official! Technically I'm still single. But if I get her something then she might think I'm too involved already, or that I really want this to work out, which I'm not sure I do. And then, if I don't get her something, she might not care, she might have got me something, in which case I look like an idiot and feel like an ass, or she might freak that I'm not serious enough when she is, and again, I'm still not sure where I'm going with her. She might be the one, she might not. Seems a little quiet really, not really very adventurous in her lifestyle. Oh hell, whoever invented this day was obviously not informed on the complexities of relationships, or possible relationships." Sara sat silently, wondering why Nick couldn't have just gone with Catherine and Warrick, who were both in relationships and had elaborate plans post shift. Gil gripped the steering wheel, wishing he had sent Nick with Catherine and Warrick, whose nauseating exuberance over their plans for the holiday would have tempered his indecision and concern. Sara cleared her throat.

"The day started as a holiday to honour three Christian martyrs named Valentinus. In AD 496 Pope Gelasius declared February 14th to be Saint Valentine's Day. Sometime during the Middle Ages, believed to be around the time of Geoffrey Chaucer, as the concept of courtly love evolved, people began to celebrate their love on the fourteenth, as it was thought that the mating season for birds began then, thus giving more reason for a day of festivity."

"Did you swallow an encyclopaedia when you were a child?" asked Nick irritably, rolling his eyes at the so typical Sidle response to a question.

"Several," was the tart reply.

"Well," snorted Nick, "At least you two don't have to worry about it." Sara stopped breathing, her heart pounding. Grissom's knuckles turned white on the wheel as fear blanketed him in its icy grip.

"How so?" he asked, forcing his voice to sound even. Nick laughed,

"No offence Griss, but when was the last time either of you went on a date? Yeah, Happy Single Awareness Day guys." Feeling her muscles relax Sara gently inhaled and settled back in her seat. Her eyes flickered over to Gil; he glanced back at her, his expression just as bemused and relieved as hers.

...

Warrick ambled into the break room in search of the burrito he had stashed in the fridge on his way in that evening. He stopped short in the doorway, dismayed by the sight before him. Sara, Grissom and Nick were all hunched over mountains of paperwork spread out on the table before them. They worked in silence, diligently focused on the grim task of sorting through the piles notebooks and expansive files that had been found in the car of their desert DB. The air was heavy with silent irritation and unspoken conflict.

"Guys, where's the love?" he called as he waltzed over to the counter. "It's way too serious in here. Feel the joy, the happiness, the romance all around us." Grissom sighed, hoping Nick wasn't going to start moaning again. Sara had already lost her temper with him on the way back from the desert, and he felt sure he was only a few lines of woman trouble away from expressing his growing disinterest too. With his burrito warmed, Warrick cleared a space at the end of the table and sat down. He stared dreamily at his wedding ring, twirling it on his finger as he mused through his plans and exactly how he hoped they would turn out. Grinning like a love sick fool he shook his head over his colleagues.

"Take her out somewhere Nick, if it doesn't work out then it's not meant to be. Feel the love bro; roses, a romantic dinner with candles and succulent food; exquisite desert and wine. Slow dancing and kissing," Warrick trailed off, a faraway, love struck expression on his face as he began to hum a sappy tune that had Sara rolling her eyes at Gil and snorting into her coffee mug.

"Ah, come on Miss Cynic," laughed Warrick, "live a little, love a lot."

"And buy into a day that had lost all meaning due to its commercialized stupidity? No thank you!" Nick and Warrick burst into laughter at her defiance.

"Yeah, ok, whatever you say," grinned Warrick as he stood and stretched. "We all know about your special plans tonight. And you Griss, you're not hard to figure out either."

Frozen in their chairs, both Gil and Sara stared at him, hearts thundering painfully in their chests. Silence descended on the room as they failed to come up with a response.

"Yeah, Sara, you and the new Applied Psychodynamics in Forensic Science issue have a date with your couch and a take out, and Grissom, well, I bet you and the roaches have a training session for your next race, and then some bug documentary on TV." As Warrick tossed his burrito wrapper and moved to leave Sara glanced at Nick, who was still sorting papers and laughing to himself, and then at her other half, who looked back at her with eyes that were just a little too wide, as though he was stuck between emotions; dismay at what his employees evidently thought of them, and relief that their secret still appeared to be safe. Warrick paused in the doorway.

"You two really should get out more; life's way too short to play at being hermits. Maybe you should have dinner together." Nick roared with laughter as his friend walked out.

...

Catherine breezed into Grissom's office, a stack of files she needed signing in her arms. Her friend was behind his desk, tapping away at his computer, with a map of the desert spread out in front of him.

"Case files needing your signature," she said by way of greeting.

"Ok," he replied, not even looking up as he waved a hand in the general direction of his in tray.

"And I have a vacation request I need you to approve."

"Does it conflict with anyone else?"

"No."

"Ok," he agreed.

"So," asked Cath as she wandered over to examine his shelves of treasures, "where are you taking her?"

"Who?"

"Your valentine. Where are you taking her?"

"My what?" he gaped, finally looking up from his PC.

"You haven't seriously forgotten what day it is have you?" she asked, aghast.

"February 14th," he replied without concern.

"You haven't planned anything? Seriously Gil, I know she's less than conventional, but every woman, no matter how intelligent and mysterious, likes to celebrate with their loved one on Valentine's Day."

Grissom stared at her, wondering whether to ask exactly what Catherine thought she knew about his loved one, or tell her that, no, not every women wanted to celebrate that particular day.

"Aren't you afraid she might hurt you?" shivered Cath? "I mean, seriously, Heather is not a woman I would want to mess with." Biting his lip to keep from laughing as his shellshock rapidly dissipated, Gil battled to present Catherine with his most serious face.

"You're right, she isn't. Thanks for reminding me Catherine."

"You're welcome," laughed his friend as she left his office, shaking her head.

...

Clutching their tox report a little too tightly in her hand Sara walked into Gil's office with a look of stunned disgust on her face.

"Exactly how long is it until this nightmare of a shift is over?" she asked in frustration as she slumped into a chair facing him.

"Too long," he groused.

"Well, according to Hodges, 'I needn't be too worried about what to wear for my date tonight, because if he can stand to be around the smell of death then he must not be too picky.' He on the other hand, will be wearing a slate gray shirt with a black dinner jacket and tie while he and Sabrina dance to smooth jazz and sip red wine."

"You don't smell like death!"

"I know," sighed Sara, leaning back in the chair as her gaze ran over the report. "Trace amount of Lamotrigine in his blood stream. Hodges found it on the bloody tissue as well. That's an anti seizure drug, but nowhere near enough to work. Maybe he missed a dose?"

"Doc's backed up. He won't get to our guy for a while. All he could do was put a rush on the bloods for us. So who does David think your date is? Catherine thinks I'm going out with Heather." A look of distaste clouded Sara's eyes.

"Well, 'I know Sanders is desperately pining for you Sara, but really, I'm sure you could do a bit better if you tried; the decadent perfume of decay notwithstanding,'" she parroted. Grissom laughed, putting down his pen as he shook with mirth. "I can't believe him," grumbled Sara, shaking her head in amused dismay. She took the file Gil held out to her and began to peruse their victim's life history as they moved to the layout room and began to sort through the three boxes they had brought back with them from the scene; both infinitely grateful Nick was still working on the files.

"I'm starting to think we should celebrate just surviving shift," she muttered as she spread out the victim's blood stained denim jacket. Grissom laughed, his lips twitching with amusement as he opened the bloody wallet.

...

Sara sat taking notes and fighting back a headache. The jacket appeared to have other, unexplained, stains on it that she wanted analysed. Grissom had gone to take a phone call in his office, leaving her alone with her thoughts, which were rapidly escalating to near paranoia.

"Hey Sara," greeted Greg as he slipped into the room and took a seat next to her.

"What's up?" she asked, scrawling the last of her sentence before looking up at him.

"I can't find the boss man, and I was hoping you would know what this is?" He handed her a photograph.

"It's a poppy," said Sara, "commonly used in various countries to symbolize remembrance."

"Ok, thanks."

"More specifically, it's an opium poppy. The Opium Wars between China, France and the British Empire in the eighteen hundreds were caused by trade and importation of opium. It's used in cooking, in poppyseed oil and is part of the coat of arms of the Royal College of Anaesthetists in Britain, along with its more illicit properties. References are also present throughout various literary works, including authors such as Charles Darwin, Jules Verne, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Tennyson, Charles Dickens and of course Edgar Allen Poe."

"Of course. I take it you've read all of those?"

"Absolutely. I wrote a paper freshmen year of college about the representation of drugs in classic literature."

"And the history of the poppy?"

"Background research."

"Did you get anything less than an A in high school or college?"

"I got a C in drama my last semester of middle school."

"I bet you were pissed."

"Livid," admitted Sara. "It ruined my GPA."

"I failed statistics in high school. I did my term project on the probability of my getting a date to the prom, based on various different character compatibility tests with five different girls. My teacher was getting divorced at the time." Sara pursed her lips and shook her head at her friend's antics. "So, on the subject of dates, knowing that you, my dear one, are unavailable, I have taken it upon myself to ask out Athena." Sara groaned internally.

'I should have known that, on today of all days, I wouldn't be able to have a conversation with Greg without the topic of romance coming up,' she thought to herself.

"Who's Athena?" she asked, hoping to keep the conversation focused on his love life, rather than hers. Greg gaped at her, shocked.

"The very hot new secretary in human resources; red hair, blue eyes, model gorgeous and she's interested in coins. That's how we got talking actually. I'm taking her to a very romantic little Italian place for dinner." Greg grinned, thinking about his plans, then turned to his friend.

"So, where is he taking you?" he asked coyly.

"Where is who taking me?"

"Your mystery man!"

"What mystery man?" she repeated flatly.

"Oh come on Sara, are you seriously telling me that your enigmatic and reclusive significant other isn't going to wine and dine you today?"

"I'm not going out; I'm going home, having dinner and then I'll probably watch a movie or read," she retorted, turning back to her notes.

"So he hasn't even given you a gift?" asked Greg brazenly, placing a gentle emphasis on the last word. Sara looked up slowly, her eyes expressing her irritation.

"Greg, I don't remember saying anything about having a significant other. Do you think you could possibly just let me get on with my work?" the ex lab rat shrugged and stood up, taking his photo back.

"Sure thing. I guess I should have known that someone as intensely private as you wouldn't want to talk about human _biology_. Not everyone is as open as Catherine. Some people just have to work things out quietly; make sure they're with the one. No point in being in a relationship if the other person _bugs_ you."

Grinning at her rattled expression, he hurried out of the room.

...

Sara approached her locker to get her bag and coat, supremely relieved the day was over. Most of the team were gathering their possessions around her. Slipping into her black jacket she buttoned it up against the cold and then pulled her bag towards her. A piece of paper was resting on top. Unfolding it, she read,

_Like I said, I know what you're up to! My lips are sealed!_

Looking up she saw Greg standing two lockers down from her. He smiled softly, and with a mixture of genuine happiness and mischief in his eyes, he winked!

...

Curled on the sofa, post a delicious, simple breakfast of cereal and fruit, Gil and Sara laughed together as they relived their day. Cupping her cheek with one hand, Gil ran his fingers through her glossy hair before leaning down to kiss her. Sara sighed into his lips, and melted further into his embrace, returning his sentiment, and feeling her body begin to hum with pleasure. As they kissed again and again, she slid her hands up under his sweater, caressing his chest with her fingertips. He kept one had knotted in her hair while the other rested against her back, gently massaging away lingering tension. Their kisses became slower and more passionate; Sara pulled him on top of her, wanting to feel the weight of his body along the length of hers as he dragged his lips slowly down her neck, teasing her.

"Damn, which key is it?" filtered through the door in the rather muffled tones of Jim Brass. Sara and Gil froze, locking eyes with one another. The sound of the keys hitting the ground and a muffled expletive woke them from their stupefaction.

"Brass," whispered Sara, her face falling.

"I forgot all about him," hissed Grissom. The sound of fumbling, and then something larger being dropped, brought them to their senses. As one they jumped off the couch and ran silently down the stairs, across the kitchen and into their room. Hank and Fred; curled together in the centre of the bed, were quickly shooed from the room. Gil locked the door while Sara flopped onto the bed, holding her hand to her mouth to conceal her giggles. They could hear Brass closing the door behind him and calling out to Fred. His footsteps drew closer and they could hear him talking to his cat.

"Are they here buddy? Or have they gone to bed yet? So much for Valentine's passion, huh Fred."

Sara stared at Gil; amused and frustrated. He shook his head in defeat and reached an arm out to snuggle her against his body. They were drifting close to sleep when a loud, angry meow echoed from the guest bedroom.

"What? Damn I'm sorry Fred, I forgot to get your dinner. Where'd I put the keys? I'll be right back bud, you sit tight." As the front door banged shut behind their guest, Sara rolled to face Gil, her eyes gleaming; he was already reaching for her!

...

...

I've always wanted to write a how Brass/Greg found out fic :) Please R&R, this is only my third challenge fic and i love your feedback!


End file.
